Second Gen Initiative
by SilentFaith
Summary: Nick Fury realizes that others worlds will continue to threaten Earth long after the Avengers. So, what else to do but bring in the next Generation? And so begins the Second Gen Initiative. Obviously, I don't own the Avengers.
1. Nick Fury's Pretty Face

**Tony Stark -New York 11:35 PM**

I sigh. I've pissed Pepper off. Again. _It was her fault really. She's so sensitive. She should know that 75% of what comes out of my mouth is bullshit._

I sigh again_. Well, Thor was probably more sensitive. He didn't even get sarcasm. Jesus._

"Hey, JARVIS?" I ask, walking around to the other side of the lab table. I grab a torch and began making repairs on my suit. It had been damaged severely in the battle against Loki, and I'd just have to wait a little while for materials to make a new one.

"Yes, sir?" the computerized voice asks.

"You wouldn't know how to make a formal apology to a being from Asgard, would you?"

"I'm afraid not, sir. However, I do know that if you don't pay attention to what you're doing, you'll cause severe damage to your hand."

I look down and saw I was indeed close to burning my hand on the hot metal. "Thanks," I mutter before turning and walking out of the lab. I walk into my living room, which had been repaired from the battle as well as all of the windows.

What I hadn't replaced, though, was my STARK sign. I kind of liked just having the A. A for the Avengers. Though Pepper had some other choice A words for me. _Arrogant _was the one that popped up the most. And asshole.

I walk past the desk with the computers on it and to the bar to make a drink. I seriously needed one. Just as I've poured myself a glass, a beep signals… something.

"Sir, a message from Nick Fury," JARVIS's computerized voice says.

I scowl. "Fabulous timing," I say as I walk over to the desk. I press an icon and open a window on the screen. Director Fury's pretty face appears. "What?" I practically growl.

"Nice to see you, too, Stark," he says, an equally unpleasant expression on his face.

"I'm so sorry. How are you today, my friend? Long time no see!" I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm, along with a phony smile.

"We want you to come back in, Tony. I have a feeling that Thor's brother and the Chitauri aren't the only beings ready for war with us."

"You got the Captain yet? How 'bout Banner? Can you even contact Thor?" I say, rolling my eyes.

"Tony," he starts, but I cut him off.

"What if I say no?" I ask.

"Then we'll leave you alone. But, Tony, you should know there's something else we want to accomplish," he says in his usual monotone. God, I hate that.

"What is it?" I ask, taking a swig of my drink.

"We want to start a project. We want to find the next generation of the Avengers. The whole "War of the Worlds' thing could last a while, and so we want to be prepared."

"Well, now I feel old," I say. But, though I hate to admit it, he's got a point. "So, are you going to get the others in on this?"

"As we speak, Natasha's finding Banner and Clint, Steve. And we'll find a way to contact Thor," Fury says, and though it's still monotone, I think I can detect a hint of smugness, usually associated with victory. God, I hate that. "We'll send a craft tomorrow to pick you up. The selection process will take about a week, and then of course we'll need to train them. Three o'clock okay?"

"Yes, yes, fine. Talk to you tomorrow." I hang up on this little video chat, I chug the rest of my drink. I go to make another one, and I stop and think before saying, "Hey, JARVIS?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Contact Pepper and tell her about me meeting up with the Avengers tomorrow. Tell her I wont be back for a little while."

"Yes, sir."

"And tell her that if she misses me she can call."

"Alright, sir."

I nod, finish my drink, then go to pack. I finish late, and finally collapse on my couch, asleep in seconds.


	2. Otherworldly Friends

**Steve Rogers - Aircraft Carrier, 10:26 AM**

I shift in my seat. Across from me sits Agent Barton. I'm a little uncomfortable. I pull out a little wooden box and open it. It has Agent Phil Coulson's Captain America trading cards. Director Fury thought it was only right that I keep them. I washed them as much as I could, so you couldn't really see the blood stains. Almost like they weren't ever there. Almost.

I shuffle through them. Agent Barton stands and talks with the two pilots a little, then sits back down.

"We should be there in about twenty minutes, Captain," he says. I fidget in my seat again. _Why does everybody call me 'Captain'? Why not Steve? I like being Steve. Well, at least the don't call me old man, like Tony did. _

I sigh. Despite the rude remarks he always had saved for me, I'm glad I can see Tony again. And Dr. Banner, Thor, Natasha, Director Fury, and a few of the agents who I kind of made friends with.

I smile. Even though I'll never really be Steve with these people, at least I can be Captain America.

**Bruce Banner - S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters, 10:37 AM**

I step of the aircraft, Natasha right behind me. Another aircraft lands not too far away, and out steps Steve and Clint. Natasha walks over to Clint and begins talking to him -probably about the most effective way to kill someone- while Steve strides over to me.

"Dr. Banner," he says, holding his hand out.

"Mr. Rogers," I say, shaking it.

"It's good to be back, isn't it?" he asks as we walk towards the entrance. I can hear the turbines starting up.

"Yeah. I just hope I don't break anything this time." Steve laughs, and I laugh a little too.

We're lead through the headquarters to the main room. Director Fury's in his usual spot, turning and looking at all his various screens. Tony's sitting a the table, nursing a Redbull - and probably a hangover- and Natasha and Clint are seated besides him. Steve and I sit on the other side of the billionaire.

"Brucie, Ms. America," he says, in what I'm guessing is a sort of greeting. Steve grumbles, though I doubt he gets what it really means. I look up to Director Fury, who hasn't acknowledged us, and a crinkling noise makes me look back at Tony. He's holding a little silver bag out to me. "Blueberry?"

"Thanks," I say as I take one. Director Fury clears his throat, and everyone stops talking and looks up at him.

As he opens his mouth to speaks, a sudden flash of lightening zips across the sky, and a roar of thunder can be heard. Everyone looks up expectantly at the director, but he remains silent. Not three minutes later, the door behind our table is thrown open loudly. I turn and see none other than Thor striding in to the room as if he owns the place.

"Son of a bitch. Fury did it," I hear Tony say as he too turns to get a better look.

"Hello, friends!" Thor shouts enthusiastically, with a wide grin.

"Hello, my otherworldly friend!" Tony shouts back. Natasha smiles at him, Clint nods, I say a polite "Hello," and Steve waves shyly.

"Thor. It's good you've arrived. Please, take a seat so we may begin," Director Fury says, and Thor obeys, still grinning. "So, a few of you know why we're hear. Mr. Stark, for example." Tony waves likes he's in a parade, earning an annoyed glare from the director. "For those of you who don't, we are trying to create a project. We call it 'Avengers: Second Generation Initiative.'" He looks around the room expectantly.

Steve politely raises his hand, and Director Fury acknowledges him. "So, what exactly is it?"

"The Second Gen Initiative is the beginning of a new team, who will be trained by the Avengers. A team of young adults will be chosen by us, then we have to train them, so when we're all old we'll still have someone protecting the world," Tony explains before the director can, sounding bored.

"Exactly," Director Fury says curtly.

"So, when do we begin?" I ask.

"Everyone is present, so we'll begin now," is his reply.


	3. Author's Note

Authors Note!

Just a quick little note. I plan to update as soon as I can but I just can't find any inspiration for this third chapter. It's not like, action-y yet or anything, so I'm trying not to make it boring. I hate boredom. And I'm having a hard time coming up with names. So, please read and review the story. I'm hoping to get a few more. I'll post as soon as I can. And if you read this entire thing, leave a review saying blueberry. Just curious. So, anyways, thanks for taking the time to look at this. And my story. :)

~SilentFaith


	4. I'm Gonna Need Another Redbull

**Tony Stark - S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters Main Room, 2:40 PM**

I chug another Redbull. My fifth. This can't be healthy, but they've denied my coffee access for the day. Said I drink too much of it.

I sigh as I leaf through another file. This one has a picture of a teenage boy on it. Not bad-looking. Inside it lists all of his accomplishments and important attributes. He's too… normal. I pick up another file, and instantly I'm looking forward to reading it. It's the picture.

A teenage girl. Cocky smirk. Arrogant overall expression. Pale skin. Navy shirt with leather jacket. Raven black hair, razor cut and ending at the shoulder, with bright purple streaks. Can't be rebellious without the neon. It's her eyes, though, that make me curious. They're… gold. At this point I'm seriously hoping they are not contacts, that this is someone who's as awesome as me, but not fake.

So, interest peaked, I decide to take a genuine looks through the folder. Genevieve Warren. Sixteen years of age. London, England. British accent? Hope so. Extremely handy with her, well, hands. Awesome with technological stuffs. Has built a robot.

Huh. It's cute. A little silver thing, maybe a foot high, with large green glowing lights for eyes. Looks a little like Clank from a video game I remember. Definitely built by a girl. They tend to go the cute route.

Has hacked in to U.S. Government files, erased a bunch. They could not be retrieved. Oooh. I like this one.

I flip to the next page. Parents deceased, many, many, many foster homes later… and she's in college at sixteen. …So, she's an orphan? A British orphan? So… many… movies… But I suppress all those annoying little thoughts and try to focus on the big picture. She should totally be an Avenger.

Next page. Arson. Trespassing. Breaking and entering, along with defilement of an abandoned warehouse using spray-paint. Hmmm… Still. Doesn't play well with others. Doesn't respect authority. Has a smart mouth. Damn. This is… the British teenage girl version of me.

She _needs_ to be an Avenger. I've always wondered what I'd be like if I was a British teenage girl. Okay, so I haven't, but that's not the point. The point is, she could be useful. I mean, that's why they have all her information on file, and brought it out for _this_. She qualified on her own, and I just need to make a point of trying. It might just be fun.

So I decide to voice my opinion. Brucie on my right, Captain Spangle-y on his right, and the assassins on my left, all looking at some teen's files. Director Rage at his screens. Agent Hill talking with some other nameless agent. More nameless agents at the computers. That one guy playing Galaga… Yeah. It's a decent audience.

I raise my hand. Director Angry doesn't notice. So I start waving it around in extremely exaggerated motions. I'm not one for subtlety. The assassins, doctor, and super soldier are glancing up at me like I'm an idiot, and I'm earning an annoyed scowl from the Director. He has _such_ a pretty face.

"Stark?" he asks.

"I believe I have found an acceptable candidate," I say in my most formal tone, giving him the respect he deserves. For some reason his scowl turns more hostile, though, and I'm very concerned about his blood pressure.

"Oh, did you?" he asks, getting past the tone and to the message.

"Mmhmm." I rise and walk over to him. "A Miss Genevieve Warren of London." Fury's tapping away at on of his screens, and her picture and basic information are projected on to a big screen in the middle of the room for all to see. "Sixteen. Cool eyes and awesome hair. Built a little robot form a video game. In college-"

"Has been arrested eighteen times, and yet manages to worm her way out of blame. Has erased files belonging to the government of the United States, we know she did it, and yet we still can't get the evidence to make an argument that'll stand up against hers?" Captain Fun-sucker says. Jesus. He doesn't know how to have the least bit of fun. God, I hate it. "Over twenty-three foster homes have given her up because she just can't get along with anybody."

Hill glances up and skims through it. "Self-centered, hostile, stubborn, arrogant. Head of her class, in her last year of college. Damn. Sounds like Tony." They all look up at me.

Natasha nods says, "Tony worked out well."

_Yeah. I worked out well. Especially when I was saving your ass and Manhattan from a nuke. Or how 'bout when I flew into that giant hole into the ABYSS OF SPACE! _I wanted to say it. I really did. Partially because I still needed someone to confirm it really happened from time to time. Instead, I had to reply with this:

"I sure hoped Nick gives her a shot. Everyone deserves a chance to prove themselves. I thought you would believe in that, Cap." I see his irritated look soften a bit, and I know I've hit home. And since Steve is the teacher's pet, I know that Fury won't be able to say no. I win. Just like always.

Fury nods, thinking about it. _Come on, come on, come on you one-eyed bastard._ "We'll need someone good with technology, maybe make some new weapons for future S.H.I.E.L.D. agents."

"So, yes? Yes? That's a yes?" I ask eagerly.

Fury nods. "If she and her current legal guardian agrees. Then yes, she may come and be considered for the project. If she meets all the requirements and passes all the tests."

"That's a yes," I say, heading back to my seat.

"It's a maybe, Stark," Fury's voice says behind me. Oh, well. I'm still grinning triumphantly. Then Rogers just has to steal my idea.

"If I may, I think this young man would be helpful to our cause." He holds up a file. Fury types in the name of the boy, and his file comes up on the center screen.

"Elliot Jones. Sixteen. He was-" Fury begins.

"A lab rat, just like you, Cap," I finish. I smirk at the glare I get.

"Well, it looks like the were trying to find the serum the used on Rogers, and possibly perfected it, from the look of it. He's stronger than the average adult male. Faster, too. No medical problems ever reported after the lab," Barton says. "His parents are deceased, and he goes to a very wealthy private school on a scholarship. Top of his class."

"See? He's the kind of young adult we should be recruiting. Not just someone you think is 'cool,'" the Captain says. "This 'Elliot' has more potential."

"Look, I already said we'll be giving Miss Warren a shot. As well as Mister Jones," the Director says. He looks over at Natasha, Clint, Thor, and Bruce. "You guys, keep looking at those files, and remember, if they pass all the tests, you're gonna have to train them."

And with that, he walks out, his Matrix coat billowing around him.

**A/N: So, not the best thing I've written, but I just needed to be done with this chapter so I could move on to the next ones, which I pretty much have written.**


	5. Katie Kat

**_A/N :Me again. I am so sorry for not updating sooner. I've been kind of busy. But I hope you like this chapter. Also, see if you can catch any of the references in this. And, just an announcmant, Iron Man 3 comes out in only 156 days! Long live Tony Stark!_**

**Aaron Ross - S.H.I.E.L.D. Base Shooting Range #1, 11:46 AM **

I pull the rigger once again. The guns remains steady in my well trained hands. As I fire a few more rounds, and focus on the feel of the gun. I fire my final shot, then roll my shoulders and let my arms fall to my sides. I bring the target forward. There are twenty bullet holes, each in the center.

"Nice shot." I spin around to see a familiar petite figure.

"Thanks Kat," I say, an easy smile forming on my lips. She grins, her bright blue eyes shining as she slips her light brown ringlets over her shoulder. I can feel my heart break slightly. The expression, the movement, it's all so familiar. My sister looks just like a younger version of out mother. She's a perfect copy of her, only with blue eyes, while I take more after our father, though I'm a brunette.

"So, Aaron, what is up?" Kat asks.

"Nothing much, Katie Kat just training a bit," I say, loving the way she grins even wider a the use of her old nickname. I reload my gun and put it into the holster hanging at my waist.

"Big brother, you are so boring. All you ever do is train," she says, sitting in a nearby chair.

"Says the girl who's beat up eleven S.H.I.E.L.D. agents today while training."

"Not my fault they couldn't keep up." I laugh and Kat giggles. We're still laughing when Director Fury walks in. I stop immediately. Of course, Kat doesn't.

"Hello Katelynn, Aaron. How are you today?" he asks, hands folded behind his back.

"I am well, sir," I say.

"And I'm just fantabulous!" Kat says, still giggling. I'm mentally face-palming.

"That's…good," Director Fury replies.

"Yush," Kat begins, but I interrupt her, "Sir, is there anything you need from us?"

"Not exactly." He pulls two chairs over, sitting in one and motioning me to as well. I do and he continues. "Your parents were some of the top S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. You have grown up in this rather hectic environment. You have trained alongside fully-grown adults and yet, more often than not you two are able to best them." He looks at us.

"Sir?"

"You've been expecting to be eligible for fieldwork soon, have you not?" Kat and I nod.

"Well, what if I told you, you two could be something more?" Kat and I share a questioning glance. "What if I told you that you could be a part of the next generation of the Earth's mightiest heroes?"

"Sir, are you referring to the Avengers?" Kat asks.

"Indeed I am. What do you think?"

"Wait, wait, wait, whoa, whoa, whoa, just wait," Kat says quickly, and I have to resist the urge to face-palm. "What exactly are we talking about here?"

"We are in the process of developing a new project. We called it The Avengers: Second Generation Initiative. And I happen to know two perfect candidates."

"Omigod, really?" Kat asks, grinning from ear to ear and practically bouncing out of her seat. I roll my eyes. She is such a child. "So cool!" She is a huge fan of the Avengers.

"If your brother accepts. He has been and will remain in charge of your well-being." _Damn it, Fury_. Kat looks at me. _Oh, god_.

"Aaron? Aaron? What do you think? I mean, I know it's not exactly what we were expecting but I feel this could be a great opportunity." I just shrug. I'm mean. So what? "Aaron! Aaron? Aaron! Aaron! Aaron!"

Director Fury stands up to leave. "Sir?" I say before Kat can have a fit. "I think we'll accept your offer."

"Good. I need to leave. I'm taking Captain Rogers and Agent Romanov to recruit the others." I can practically hear Kat fangirl. "Have a good day."

"You, too, sir."

I watch him walk out the door, and the next thing I know I'm tackled/hugged to the ground.

"K-Kat. C-can't breath," I manage to say. My sister giggles and hops up.

"Omigod, omigod, omigod! This is so awesome! We're gonna be on a team! The new Avengers. This is so exciting!" I smile as I scramble up and hugged again. "You have to be the best big brother EVER! Oop, look at the time. I have to go. I promised Kenny-"

"Sam?" I ask, rolling my eyes and smiling.

"Yeah, Sam. I promised him I'd spar with him."

"You mean kick his ass?" I ask, smiling.

"Yup," Kat says with a mischievous grin, before skipping out. I turn back to the shooting range and notice that Director Fury has left a tablet on his chair. My first though was that it was a mistake, but that's the ting. Director Fury doesn't make mistakes. Only controlled chaos. I pick it up and turn it on, sitting down as I do. I scroll through the information before I realize that these are the files of the kids associated with the Second Generation Initiative.

Aaron and Katelynn Ross, seventeen and fifteen. Devon Mason, sixteen. Charlotte Coulson, nineteen. Genevieve Warren, sixteen. Elliot Jones, seventeen. Ming Hashimoto, sixteen. Kat's the youngest. Not sure how I feel about that.

I keep scrolling through the files, growing more and more skeptical and worried. _These kids… they're freaks_. Some in a good way. One of the two who're completely normal, Warren, has been arrested way to many times to be overlooked in the slightest. And the rest just get more and more strange. One's like Captain America, the Japanese girl has super strength, another's the niece of Agent Phil Coulson.

I keep looking. Searching through the data. This'll be… interesting. _What the hell did I get my sister and myself into?_


	6. The Americans

_**A/N: Hey again. So this is probably only part one, because I feel I should elaborate a little on this. But I just needed to post this so I could continue. Please read, and maybe even review if you'd like. Enjoy.**_

**Genevieve Warren - London, England, 3:47 PM**

Classes are done for the day. Finally. I hug my binders and notebooks to my chest. I step out of the building, and immediately my ears, despite have my headphones on and blaring Paramore, are filled with a deep thrumming. Shielding my eyes from the sun while simultaneously trying to adjust my sunglasses, I look up as a helicopter comes to view. I'm almost positive those aren't supposed to fly that low. It's low enough now that the wind it generating is blowing loose papers from some classmates' grip. I look to my right to see one of my various teachers looking up as well, using some paperwork to shield his eyes from the glare, his tie flying wildly over his shoulder. A second later, he's pushing his way through mystified students in a mad dash back inside.

I turn back to the helicopter as it descends, landing on some sports field - I never bothered to know that we even had a sports team - to the dismay of some band geeks. _Wait, we have a band? _Someone shoves me aside, and I see it's Mr. Lewis, a teacher of some sort of advanced mathematics and whatnot - so I'm not the most attentive in class - and the man who just so happen to be my current legal guardian for the past three years - dragging the director behind him. That woman could give a verbal lashing that would make a terrorist hang his head and say sorry. Not to mention her ability to run in five-inch stilettos. My focus returning the helicopter, I see this guy stepping out, dressed completely in black, with this air of confidence, like he owned the place. I already don't like him. That was my thing.

Now the director's yelling at him, her hair blowing wildly around her face. I almost feel sorry for the guy. That woman is a bitch. He responds to her with an eerie sort of calm, and she whips around and points, and Mr. Lewis and the man turn to look. At me. Shit. A few students who've managed to sort of figure out what's going on have begun to back up like I've been diagnosed with the plague, causing others to do the same. Double shit. The man strides over, the director and Mr. Lewis struggling to keep up. The student part like the Red Sea. My first thought is to run. I'm smaller than pretty much everyone here, some by a lot, and I'm pretty fast.

That's when I notice the armed guard a few paces behind the black guy, both seemingly ignorant of the gawking student population. Sadly, I'm not, and I'm getting a few stares myself. While I'm okay with being the center of attention during class, I'm usually only making smart remarks or correcting the teacher, not being singled out by a dude and his armed guard.

The dude stops a few feet in front of me, almost concealing the man with the massive gun. Almost. The man just stares at me. Doesn't say anything. Just stares, He's got an eye patch. _That's different_.

He open his mouth to speak but my phone starts blaring some Panic! At the Disco song. I hold my finger up and answer the phone, ignoring Mr. Lewis' glare. "Hello?"

"Hello! What am I missing here? I'm in a class on the second floor, when I just happen to look out the window towards the parking lot, and um, there's just a U.S. government helicopter parked on the football field! What is going on?" That would be my friend and classmate, Erik.

"Christian, I really can't talk now," I say, looking up at the man again. He's cocked his head and has his finger pressed to an earpiece, and as he notices my questioning look he winks. I can hear Christian going on, practically hysterical about how he hopes this isn't about the stuff I erased that one time, in the background as I try to figure this guy out. Seconds later, I realize he's listening to my phone conversation through his earpiece. _Bloody hell_. "Christian, I gotta go," I say, cutting of his rant about …something.

"Don't you dare hang up-" and I've already hung up and am in the process of slipping my phone in to my pocket.

"Miss Genevieve Warren?" the man asks. He's got an American accent, so I guess Christian's right about it being the Americans. A petite red-haired woman comes over to stand beside him, though where she came from I can't say.

"That depends," I say.

"On what?"

"Who you are."

I can see the director and Mr. Lewis looking at me with the expression that usually comes with the word, 'Behave.' The man only smiles, and the woman smirks.

"Miss Warren, my name is Nick Fury," he says. "This is Agent Romanov."

"Mr. Fury, why are you here?" I cross my arms.

"For you." My blood nearly freezes.

"Why?"

"I believe you in super heroes. Heard of the Avengers?"

"Indeed." _Who hasn't? _Wait, the woman... she an Avenger. I've seen her on news reports.

"Good, there's something I wish to talk to you and Mr. Thomas Lewis about." He looks over at Mr. Lewis, who, despite his normally cool composure dealing with serious situations - I might... kinda... sorta... get arrested from time to time, though it's not usually my fault, and I can always talk my way out of it - starts to fidget. "He is your legal guardian, yes?" I nod, and he motions for us to follow him inside the building. Mr. Lewis looks at me nervously, then we and the director follow Mr. Fury and Agent Romanov in to the building, leaving the crowd of staring students behind.


	7. Phil's Niece

**_A/N: Okay, so hi again. That was quick. I have lots of ideas for the plot of this story, and, -dare I admit?- a sort of sequel. My brain doesn't understand the meaning of 'logical order'. So, yeah. I figured if I get my introductions done, I can have that to look forward to. Problem is, I still have a few characters to introduce, and I haven't even begun writing their introductions and I'm just not sure how to do it. Oh, well. So, please, read and maybe even review? Enjoy._**

**Charlotte Coulson - New York City, New York, 1:35 PM**

I stand at the copier, you guessed it, making copies. I'm one of the three people who know how to work the stupid thing.

I'm an intern working at some big, important, and currently nameless - they're still narrowing down possible company name choices, so I don't bother to remember the name of the day - company in NYC, a lovely place to live if you don't mind having no personal space.

I sigh and look around, bored out of my mind.

Suddenly, someone crashes into me and nearly throw me to the ground. Luckily, the pull me upi before I can hit the ground.

"What the hell?" I cry before I realize who it is. "Cammy, what is wrong with you?" I ask before returning to the copier.

Cameron just laughs before she says, " A lot of things, but, uh, now is not the time for me to write you a list." The tension in her voice makes me turn to look at her.

Cam's a little out of breath, having probably run here, hence crashing into me before making a complete stop. These marble floors are pretty slippery. Cammy adjusts her red Iron Man t-shirt - I prefer Captain America myself - and stares at me with this weird look, and it's starting to creep me out.

"Cam, what's up?"

"Oh, you know, the usual. But, Charmander, pray tell, do you happen to know a black guy with and eye patch, Matrix coat, and -oh! how could I forget? - a gun!"

I quickly shake my head. "Nope. Nobody comes to mind."

"Okay, well, a dude fitting that description down in the lobby, scaring the hell out of some receptionists, and he's asking for you."

"Oh my god."

"But, Charlotte, there's one more thing I have to say. Well, two more things. You ready?" I nod. "He brought Steve Rogers with him." Oh. My. Freaking. God.

"You're joking." I look at her, staring intently, searching for the telltale signs that she's lying. I find none.

"I'm not. And the guy? He says he knew your uncle." She flinches while saying it, waiting for the emotional whiplash, but I show none. I repeat the words he taught me in my head._ I am brave. I will fight. I will protect what I love. I am brave._ That helps a little, and the rest I can just hide by letting out my inner fangirl.

"Okay, weird. But Captain America is here?"

Cam rolls her eyes. "Is that all you took out of this conversation?"

"Yes. Now lets go. The guy's probably just from the military. And we shouldn't keep an armed man waiting in the lobby, should we?" I grab her wrist and begin to pull her down the hallway.

"Well, I think he's just her to scare the hell out of us." Cam's tone has gone from Slenderman frightened to Why-the-hell-did-you-wake-me-up-from-my-nap? annoyed. We make our way to the elevator. I anxiously wait for the doors to open, and finally, what felt like a light-year - it was probably only like four seconds in reality - they open with a high-pitched ding. I rush inside, jerking Cam inside with me.

All the way down I'm checking myself out in the full-length mirror. I look professional in a dark green blouse, black dress pants, and some semi-sparkly black flats -especially next to Cam in her t-shirt, jeans, and high-tops. My hair is up in an only slightly messy bun - Cam says it adds personality - with a few pieces framing my face. I'm wearing my thin, gold-wire glasses instead of my contacts - Cam insisted, saying they frame my "pretty eyes fabulously" - and despite her current look, I've got to say she's right.

The doors open and reveal the posh, nicely furnished lobby. An armed guard Cam failed to mention, a scary black man with an eye patch - not quite so unusual in NYC as you might think - and -HOLY FREAKING CRAP- Captain America himself. On the outside, I've managed to keep my professional composure, though on the inside I'm internally screaming.

I inherited my love of Captain America form my uncle, Phil Coulson. He gave me some of his old action figures and comic books, and that helped fan the flames. My uncle Phil was an accountant for some huge company and had to travel a lot, so I didn't get to see him much. About seven months back he told me he had heard rumor that Captain America had been found in some arctic ocean, frozen, and that now he was very much alive. I knew it probably wasn't true, but, hey, a girl could hope. Eventually, the rumors spread I heard of them more and more. The last time I talked to my uncle he told me that he'd try to get his near mint-condition Captain America trading cards signed for me for my twentieth birthday. I would laugh and say yeah right, but I always hoped.

Then, aliens attacked my hometown, and a Norse god, some master assassins, a billionaire in an iron suit, a tremendous lab accident, and none other than Captain America saved they day. And the next day I found out my uncle was considered collateral damage...

Before my though can get too depressing, I shove them away. I am brave. The scary man and the man out of time look up at Cam and me.

"Miss Charlotte Coulson?" Captain Rogers asks. I nod.

"Hello," the man says, "I am Director Nick Fury. I am from the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistic Division-"

"Shield?" Cam asks beside me.

"Yes, that is what we call ourselves, Miss...?" Nick Fury asks, and from his tone of voice I can hear he's not exactly trying to be polite. I hear Cammy huff. Uh-oh. Cam's pride has been has been shot, and her authority questioned.

"Cameron Hoyle, the daughter of the famous businessman, John Hoyle, whose building you are currently standing in," she says, standing a bit taller and crossing her arms. "Did you get security clearance for those weapons?" Captain Rogers shifts a little. "Oh. You didn't. That's nice. Anyways, next time you come barging in here like you own the place -which you don't- and bring your guns like you have the proper paperwork -which, again, you don't- I will expect you to write apology letters to me, my father, and all the staff you intimidated to get in here. Alright? Sound fair? Good." And with that, she marched back into the elevator, head held high. It could give you whiplash with how fast she goes from Cammy to Cameron Holye.

Director Fury clears his throat. "Yes, well, I-"

"Better remember to write the apologies if you ever piss her off again," I finish. He looks at me like I'm joking. I'm completely serious.

"Duly noted. Anyways, I was wondering if you might be interested in a project of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s?"

"What kind of project?" I ask skeptically.

Director Fury grins. "We call it Avengers: Second Generation Initiative."


	8. Pirates and Saints

**Devon Mason - Northridge High School, 2:51 PM**

I lean against my locker, hugging my calculous book to my chest, as well as my binder -filled with stuff crucial to me, not school- and my handy-dandy notebooks -crucial to my academic needs.

I am the cute-and-nerdy-but-not-incredibly-hot-and-therefore-not-datable boy. I am the top-of-the-class-sixteen-year-old boy in a class of eighteen and nineteen year-olds. I am the one everybody wants to be lab partners with in biology but no one wants to hang out with. Except their mom.

I am one of the brightest minds of this generation, and yet I'm stuck here being bullied by some dumb drooling jocks who will be working for me some day. Just have to survive sophomore year. Then two more after that. Sadly, my school somehow thinks that even though I'm taking all senior year classes, I shouldn't be moved up a grade, let alone two. The counselor said something about my psychological development and social life. What social life?

These thoughts are continuously rambling through my mind throughout the days stuck in this academic prison. Coincidentally, these are the same thoughts that distract me as some earlier mentioned 'dumb, drooling jocks' -who happen to be twice my size- come strutting down the hall. Will and Jace.

"Hey, how's it going, Devon?" asks Jace, putting his arm around my shoulder and steering me away from this hallway. Teachers stalk the main hallways during passing periods.

"Fine actually," I say. Once we're out of the teachers' sight and earshot, Jace pushes me away as though I'm diseased. Yeah, I'm not the one with STDs.

"Will and I were just talking" -I had no idea they were smart enough to communicate so easily, though I guess it was hardly civilized company- "about all the girls we've kissed," -You could fill a dictionary with the names of the various sluts, whores, and probably prostitutes these guys have hooked up with- "and we were wondering if you've ever kissed any?"

"Yes," I say, though I'm lying.

"You mom doesn't count, dumbass," Will says. Jace gives him a high five. Because it was really so clever.

"Ah, but yours does," I say. Sometimes, the filter between my brain and my mouth doesn't work. This would be one of those times.

Will growls and shoves me roughly. "Where's the money you owe us?"

"I don't owe you money."

Jace snorts. "Just give us the twenty bucks we know you bring every day."

"I don't have it."

"Where is it?" Will asks, taking a threatening step towards me.

"Your mom's dresser." Oops.

Will turns on me like a wild dog. "You're dead," he growls, and of course, Jace looks just as murderous. Damn, these imbeciles are so ill-tempered and violent.

I have managed to tuck my things in my messenger bag, which is slung across my body. I turn and run, hearing the oafs' thumping footsteps behind me.

I'm not the most athletic, but I'm a seriously fast runner. My gym teacher keeps trying to get me in to track. Though, I usually spend more time outrunning Dumb and Dumber than jumping over hurtles or running a relay.

I turn a corner and immediately I bump in to someone. I fall back. I prop myself up on my elbows and look up at who I ran in to. Of course, it just happened to be that black guy from the Matrix. With an eyepatch. Pirate? From the Matrix? Seems legit. He gives me a questioning glance.

I hear Will and Jace round the corner, stop, then come forward at a slower pace.

"Were they bothering you?" the man asks.

"No, no," I lie.

"Will and Jace have always been good boys," a feminine voice says. I had completely missed old Mrs. Santiago standing half-beside, half-behind the Matrix Pirate.

"Yeah. We were just horsing around," I hear Jace say. Matrix Pirate looks to me for confirmation. I hurriedly nod.

"We're friends, we were just messing around," I say. Like I'd paint the target on my head that comes with the label of 'snitch'. I'm stupid sometimes, but I don't have a death wish.

The man nods, taking my answer into consideration. "Alright. I don't supposed you are Devon Mason?" He asks like he already knows the answer.

I nod. He smiles, then extends a hand. I take it, and he helps me up. "Thanks, sorry about running into you."

"Don't mention it. I am Director Fury. I would like to talk to you. Preferably with your mother present." Oh, well, I'm in trouble. He seems to read my mind, because next thing he says is, "Don't worry. You are not in any trouble. I just have an opportunity for you."

"Oh. Well, my mother gets off work at four, and I can give you my address," I say. "I have another class."

"And then we need to work on a class project after school." Will pipes up.

Director Fury looks to me for confirmation. I nod, despite my better judgment.

"I will see you and your mother around four, then." He turns and walks off, and I hurry to my last class of the day.

ooo

I lay on the ground. My backpack lays a few feet away, the contents strewn all around the alleyway.

I stand, and another blow knocks me down. "You just don't know when to stop, do you?" Will's voice.

"What, you getting sleepy?" I ask, standing again.

"You wish." Jace's voice, though my head is swimming. "What about you, Mason?"

"Me? Oh, I could do this all day." He punches me in the face that time. I'm on the ground again, about ready to stand up, when I hear Mr. DeCasio's voice.

"What the hell? You damn kids, get away from that boy!" I see Jace and Will's sneakers as the run away, kicking my stuff as the go. "Well, look at this mess." The old man walks over from the doorway of his little shop over to me. "Devon?"

"Yep?" I shakily get the my hands and knees.

"Why do I keep finding you like this?" I look up and meet his eyes. He looks sad.

"They can't pick a better location?" He holds his hand out to me and helps me up.

"Well, better me than anyone else." Mr. DeCasio is considered the evil, mean, old man of our community, the one all the kids are frightened of. Except me.

He lives down the street from me. One time, about six years ago, I was playing with my friends when one accidentally threw my softball in to his backyard. They accepted the loss, but I refused to give up. I scaled the tall fence, but ending up falling into his yard. Mr. DeCasio saw the long fall from his window and hurried out - as much as a seventy-year-old can hurry - to help me, but I had already grabbed the ball and was working on climbing the fence again. He laughed, and helped me over, giving me a story to tell my friends about how I 'survived'. We became friends, as that wasn't the last time my friends threw my baseball over that fence. As I grew older, I began to help around his house and his shop for him.

He leads me into his shop - it's kind of like a nicer version of a convenience store - and sits me down on a bar stool. "Looks like you really took a beating today."

"Nah. I almost had them, but you just had to interrupt..." He lets out a sharp laugh, and I smile. He walk back over.

"Well, you're gonna have a nice shiner." Mr. DeCasio hands me a mirror. A bruise is already forming around my eye. "Don't worry. The ladies love a bad boy." I snort.

"Hey, what time is it?" I ask.

"Oh, it around five, now."

"Holy shit. I'm in trouble." I stand up, feeling just a little lightheaded. "Thanks, Mr. DeCasio!" I run out the door leading to the alley and begin gathering all my papers and notebooks, shoving them in my backpack.

"No problem, Devon. Try to stay out of trouble, alright?" He asks, smiling from the doorway.

"No promises!" I run from the alley, out on the sidewalk, cross a few roads, turn a few corners, and in a few minutes I'm standing outside of my house, hand on the doorknob. My mom's green Sedan is parked in the driveway, in front of a shiny black... Hummer?

I take a deep breath, and venture inside.

.

**Genevieve Warren - London, England, 7:32 PM**

I step in to Mr. Lewis' study. He sitting in his chair at his desk, bent over some students' paperwork. Mr. Lewis is a young, good-looking man, and I'm sure he could get a girlfriend if I wasn't around here, mussing up everything.

"Has the council come to a decision?" I ask, a little sarcastically.

"Gene, do you want to do this?" he asks.

"Of course. I can finally feel like I can do something." I say it nonchalantly, but the words do have more meaning than that.

"You can do something here." Mr. Lewis' voice almost sounds pleading. I take a closer look and see his eyes watering. Oh, no. I'm going to start crying now. Damn him.

"But-but... Tony Stark." Mr. Lewis nods. He knows how much I've idolized the American man.

"Well," he says, running his sleeve along his eyes. "I guess you better pack."

"Really? You're letting me go?" I ask, my eyes widening. He stands and walk over to where I'm leaning on the doorframe.

"Indeed." He smiles. I rush forward and hug him. His reaction is slow - I'm really not one for physical contact - but eventually he does hug me back. I pull away and run to the stairway, pounding up the stairs. I hurry to my room, pull and suitcase out of the closet and start packing.

"Guess what, MR. IBTY? We're going to America!" I say to the little metal being sitting on a shelf.

"Is that's supposed to be a good thing?" the little computer generated, male sounding voice says.

I hear Mr. Lewis call up the stairway. "Make sure to pack that little demon spawn you call a robot!"

"Does he mean me? I'm practically a saint." MR. IBTY jump off the shelf on to my bed, than slides off that and walk to me.

"Dude, if you're a saint, Tony Stark is a virgin," I say, laughing.

**A/N: I know, I have not updated in a while. These intros are tedious, so I had to add a bit of Gene in there to entertain myself. Next chapter or so I'll pick back up with Devon. 132 DAYS UNTIL IRON MAN THREE COMES OUT! I can't wait 'till I get these intros over with. THEN WE CAN START SHIPPING. Hahaha, yeah. Please review, give me ideas, and if it's good enough you might get an honorable mention and I might just use it. Ok. I'm done. I'll SEEYA!**


	9. Converse and Fangirls

_**A/N: Like I said, honorable mention. This goes out to my bro, I Am Still Here, that one Guest, and zombie girl jinx. I live for the reviews. So, here's a chapter. Yeah... anyways, just a little weird thing. To myself, I've taken to calling Kat and Aaron the SHIELD Siblings. Do with that what you will. I also made another story in my spare time, Hope is Hard to Come By, and it's a Loki thing. I may connect it to this story (and the sort of sequel I'm already writing) or I may not. Want to give your opinion? Read it and review here or there. One more thing... Iron Man 3? 97 days! Eeeee!**_

**Kat Ross - Helicarrier Meeting Room, 12:30 PM**

**Monday, June 12th**

_I'm so excited! Eeeee!_ I think, bouncing on my heels as we stand in a SHIELD meeting room. Tony Stark -_ THE_ Tony Stark - is sitting, fiddling with some sort of tablet, in a chair next to where the Director would stand, but he's not in here right now. My hands rest on top of the back of Aaron's chair. The chairs are the really fancy kind, made of plush black leather, and the spin.

The rest of the room is pretty posh as well. It's a rectangular room, with a high ceiling and three white walls. The fourth wall, nearest tot the head of the long reflective glass table, is made of five panes of floor-to-ceiling windows. It's sunny outside, but the cove around the window keeps it from really shining in.

I try not to look at the billionaire sitting only ten seats and across the table from my brother, but I fail. I hear Aaron saying something quietly to me, but I'm to busy fangirling to care. If I was alone, I'm me jumping up and down then collapsing on the floor, all while screaming and laughing and probably swearing. Then I'd die of a star-struck induced heart attack.

Crap. Aaron's looking at me, with that_ look_. I hate that look. It's the look of him questioning and doubting me. He usually asks a question before giving me that look, so I nod. It seems to work. He turns back around and continues scribbling in his notebook.

I look at my expression on the table. I'm grinning, but that's nothing unusual. I'm also still bouncing, but, then again, that's not so unusual either.

* * *

**Gene Warren - Helicarrier, 12:37 PM**

I hate everything. Especially the sun. And America. I'm going to have jet lag later. I already have a migraine, and MR. IBTY was forced into cargo. Well, at least his mobile unit. I've still got the earpiece that connects me to the AI. He controls all my electronics and gives me snarky comments.

I'm being led into the base from the aircraft. I didn't think the first SHIELD base I would be taken to would be floating in the water. Eh. I don't dwell on it. I'm led inside in a blur of passing rooms and long hallways. The steady thump of my messenger bag, the drawling voice of the agent turned tour guide, and the constant pounding in my head seem to be lulling me in a trance. I didn't' think I'd feel the jet lag so soon.

Maybe I don't. Maybe I'm just exhausted. Yep, that's it.

"Hey, dude, are the paying you to be a tour guide? And are you expecting me to listen?" I ask. The man shoots me a pointed look, and I shut up. Not because of him, but because I'm even to tired to give him my whole holier-than-thou thing right now.

And now the dude's stopping. He gestures to the door, and it takes me a moment to realize he wants me to go in. I do.

_Damn. This room is swanky_, is my first thought. My second is,_ Tony _bloody_ Stark_. He sits on the other side of the room, left side of the table. My eyes glance over the two teens, one sitting, one standing behind. The one in the chair, an older looking boy, has brown hair and stormy, dark, blue eyes. The girl who stands behind him is obviously his sister. They look alike, though she has blonde hair and light blue eyes.

I can't stand standing anymore. I sit in a chair across from the other teen, propping my feet on the table and leaning back in the chair, closing my eyes.

* * *

**Kat Ross - Helicarrier Meeting Room, 12:40 PM**

I hear the door open and look up form the table, where I was studying my reflection. A girl is ushered into the room by an irritated looking agent.

The girl has jagged cut black hair - with purple streaks - to her shoulders. She's wearing a black t-shirt with an arc rector printed on the chest, a purple leather jacket, black skinny jeans, and converse shoes. The left shoe is glittery silver, the right glittery gold. As her eyes quickly wander, taking everything in, underneath her jagged bangs I can see they're a bright gold.

The teen also has ruby lips, and dark circles under her eyes, both brought out by the paleness of her skin. Oh, now I remember her name. The Brit, the one who's supposed to arrive first, is named Genevieve.

She looks like she's about to faint as she moves swiftly to the chair across from Aaron. Genevieve sits down, leans back, putting crossing her arms and propping her feet up on the table.

Aaron and I share a glance, meaning, 'Uh, is she _allowed_ to do that?' He shrugs and goes back to scribbling.

I look at Tony to see if he's noticed the new arrival. He's giving her a look, a mix of excitement and enthusiasm, before promptly going back to his tablet.

I turn back to the girl to see her breathing deeply. She must've fallen asleep. And after all this, I remember I'm still bouncing. More out of growing boredom, though. We all have to stay in here until the last arrival of the day comes. I think her name is Charlotte. As far as I know, she lives in New York. We are pretty much in the middle of the Atlantic, so it's really anyone's guess of when she'll be here.

A few minutes pass in relative silence.

I mean to say something quietly to Aaron, but instead I catch a glimpse of his notebook. He's drawing Genevieve sleeping. It actually looks pretty good for a quick sketch. He's outlining and drawing details now. My brother draws. He's an artist. Or something.

He just draws whatever model of thing he finds worthy. And he just drew the Brit with the criminal record.

Aaron's not going to live this one down. _Ever._

* * *

**Charlotte Coulson - Helicarrier 1:23 PM**

This is so cool! The agent/tour guide is telling me all about the mechanics and inner working of the Helicarrier, smiling at my enthusiasm. I'm practically skipping after him, my backpack on one shoulder.

We continue walking down the hallways. A door opens, and out steps a tall blond man, dressed in a blue shirt and kakis. Oh, crap, I'm going to hyperventilate. IT'S STEVE ROGERS. Whoa, cool down, you crazed fangirl.

"Hello," he says politely to me, before looking up at the SHIELD agent.

"This is Charlotte. Charlotte Coulson," the man says.

Captain Rogers stiffens at my last name. Odd. I give a small wave.

"She's one of the participants for the Second Generation Initiative," the agent explains.

"Ah. Well, I'm going to the meeting room. I'd be glad to escort her?" Captain Rogers says, looking at both of us. I nod eagerly, and the agent nods before walking away. The captain turns back to me and smiles. "This way, Miss Coulson."

I'm going to explode with fangirl elation. And I'm okay with that.

**_A/N: Hey, look how well I avoided the intros! Yeah! So, um, please review, even if you loved/hated this._**


	10. Hiatus

I've been lacking inspiration. Ideas are welcome, but for now this is on hiatus. Sorry, guys. But inspiration comes at intermittent and odd times, so who knows? In a week or two, maybe I'll have something. Thank you to my followers and reviewers, and ideas are certainly welcome! Later, loves!

~SilentFaith


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